


The time Holmes taught me to dance...

by lady_slice



Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_slice/pseuds/lady_slice
Summary: "I remember it was a Wednesday evening and Holmes had the brilliant idea that he would finally teach me how to dance..."The dreaded evening had finally arrived and it was time for John to learn how to dance properly. But of course, the otherwise quiet evening is interrupted with a call from the Inspector...it appears that the killer that's been on the loose is not only out to get Sherlock and John, but is also a very sloppy mail carrier...
Relationships: Mary Morstan & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Mrs. Hudson & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640503
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	The time Holmes taught me to dance...

_February 12, 1891,_

_I remember it was a Wednesday evening and Holmes had the brilliant idea that he would finally teach me how to dance. I promise I’m not that terrible, but my unrelenting teacher who doubles as my irascible housemate/companion believes that I’m an embarrassing disgrace to the world of dance. What was surprising in this regard, was that Mary seems to also agree. As I have written before on the subject, Mary and Holmes rarely get along…well actually, Holmes doesn’t seem to get along with Mary, although I suspect they’re more like each other than either is willing to admit. If only they would give the prospect of a budding friendship a chance. Of course, it would be my life’s sole purpose to mediate between two people who are the nearest and dearest to me, but alas, I digress…_

_As I was writing before, it was a quiet Wednesday evening and Holmes had the curtains drawn in the parlor to dim the room as he’s apt to do. It was too dark, per usual. Earlier that day, we had received a package, but not from our usual carrier. I remember brushing the episode off; it was typical of the post to send various delivery people to our address. After dinner, the dance lesson had progressed well into the night before we were interrupted by Mrs. Hudson with a call from Inspector Lestrade…_

* * *

“Right, now the left foot…”

The light flickering from the few candles illuminated the parlor; the drapery had been delicately pulled back to display the moonlight.

“…I said, _left_ foot, ol’ boy.”

Sherlock was holding John as they waltzed, or attempted to, around the space. John kept tripping over Sherlock who remained persistent to teach his companion how to dance properly.

“…oh dear, are you certain you’ve been granted a degree from one of the finest medical schools? How does one not know their left from their right?” Sherlock sneered as tightened his grip around John’s waist.

John made a whiny noise as he tried yanking away from Sherlock. “The room is too damn dark, Holmes. A little mood spoiling, if you ask me.”

Sherlock laughed a little too loudly as he tapped John’s shoulder a little too vigorously.

“The lighting is fine, my dear Watson. And it is _you_ who’s spoiling the mood.”

John managed to break away from Sherlock, huffing as he straightened out his waistcoat before walking to the other side of the parlor, pointing back at Sherlock.

“See, I told you this was a bad idea, but you’re too damn relentless.” He turned to pour himself a drink, sighing heavily before sipping out of a glass.

Sherlock rested his hand on his hips, taking his time before responding. “You won’t get too far with that kind of attitude.”

John rolled his eyes. He took a moment before looking back at his companion who was now shooting him the most annoying grin; a grin he usually reserved for when he was on the verge of an observation clad in a shroud of self-satisfaction.

“Holmes, I am _not_ in the mood.” John drained half his drink, taking his time to look directly at Sherlock as he rested a hand on his hip before leaning up against the table.

Sherlock laughed quietly to himself before taking his time to approach his companion as if he were confronting a scared animal. John rolled his eyes as he watched Sherlock make his way over.

“I apologize,” he reached out a hand with a sincere smile, “might we try again?”

John made a face before looking away. He sighed loudly, indicating he was annoyed although willing, before taking Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock grinned before pulling John close again, replacing his hand on his waist.

“Now,” Sherlock effortlessly whisked them back to the middle of the space,” left foot, _then_ the right.”

John shuffled around a bit until he eventually picked up the rhythm. Sherlock squeezed him tighter as they maneuvered around the room.

Sherlock could feel John relaxing as he kept up with the pace. “See? It’s about perseverance, my dear.” He smiled as he looked slightly upward at his companion.

John scrunched up his face; he knew Sherlock was right, but he would never give him the credit.

“You know I’m right but refuse to give proper credit.” Sherlock said with a smirk as he practically read John’s mind, prompting a curt scoff from the latter.

They continued to whirl around, making a move suddenly to avoid stepping on Gladstone as he slept soundly, not too far away from the middle of the room.

John sighed. “Please don’t step on my dog, Holmes—”

“ _Our_ dog. Besides, if a canine should be trampled tonight it will because of you and your two left feet.” Sherlock quipped, but his expression let John know he was only teasing.

John used the hand on Sherlock’s shoulder to pinch his companion who yelped dramatically, pulling away a bit, rubbing his shoulder in defiance.

John let out another pained sigh. “You’re fine. Try not to act like a child.” He grimaced before smiling at Holmes who resumed to pulling him close again by the waist.

Sherlock readjusted himself, expressing an air of feigned skepticism, before they continued twirling around the room.

As John began to finally loosen up a bit, dancing with Holmes turned out not to be as horrible an enterprise he had initially imagined.

 _Well, I guess I will need to confess to Mary that she was right_ …John grinned to himself as he thought about having lunch with Mary the next day.

Sherlock grunted before making another face.

“Now, what?” John asked, knowing full well that Sherlock could never just let a nice moment settle without any annoyances.

Sherlock shook his head as they waltzed. “Nothing.”

John sighed heavily. “What? You’re just going to hold it over my head.”

Sherlock shrugged as he looked away from John. “It’s nothing…”

John’s expression tightened before it relaxed. “…okay then—”

“—it’s just that,” Sherlock began, “here we are enjoying a nice moment, and you’re thinking about something, or _someone_ else.”

“So, I’m not allow to think?” John countered.

“You’re allowed to think, but I would appreciate it if you focused on me and dancing. You are already terrible at both.” Sherlock practically snorted.

John couldn’t help his expression from morphing into a shade of frustration as he stopped them to cross his arms. Sherlock acted as if his last statement hadn’t been steeped in his usual melodramatics.

“Holmes, I spend most of my waking hours with you. And if I’m not working late, most sleeping hours as well.” John kept his arms crossed as he stared intently at Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he preceded to extricate his smoking pipe from a hidden pocket in his waistcoat. He squinted at John before walking over to the other side of the parlor.

 _Here we are, yet again. It’s like we’re an old married couple_. John whined to himself.

John drew in a steady inhale of breath before continuing. “I was just thinking that I’ll need to confess to Mary that learning to dance was not as terrible as I had initially believed.” John shrugged with his arms outstretched before letting them fall against his sides. He knew Sherlock would spiral into his normal fit of hysterics over Mary.

But instead of complaining about John spending too much time with Mary and not with him, which was not the case in the slightest bit, Sherlock only huffed with a shrug before turning around to finish the drink John had poured himself earlier.

John waited for a curt response, but the moment never came.

“So? That’s all? I must say, never thought I would see this passive-aggressive Sherlock so soon.” He retorted, with a half grin.

Sherlock turned around slowly after placing his drink delicately on the table. “I’m never passive in my intentions, dear, always _very_ clear.”

John rolled his eyes. “So, is the lesson over now?”

Sherlock rested one hand on his hip as the other cradled his pipe. To John, he looked to be considering the proposal, but he knew Sherlock had been looking forward to teaching him to dance all week.

Sherlock shrugged again as he looked around the room, but never back at John. John rested his hands on his hips as he patiently waited for Sherlock to finally respond.

“Of course not. I can’t be seen with you if you continue to dance so dreadfully.” Sherlock placed his pipe on the table before sauntering back over to John.

John shook his head as he waited for Sherlock to finally join him and resume dancing. They went back to their positions before waltzing around the room. As the two continued to dance, the small quibble faded between them, as these usually happened. Both knew the other cared about him tremendously not to let a little spat affect their relationship.

After a moment, Sherlock looked upward at John with a smile. “I do believe you’ve almost gotten it.”

John smirked. “Almost?” He answered with a quiet laugh.

Sherlock let John pull him closer with each step. “Yes, _almost_.”

John chuckled as Sherlock continued to grin at him. The lesson was becoming a nice moment, just one of the many the two had shared prior, but of course, it was soon interrupted.

Both John and Sherlock nearly jumped at the sound of a knock at the door. The knock was followed by the door cracking opening a bit to reveal Mrs. Hudson who looked troubled.

Sherlock huffed loudly, rolling his eyes a little too dramatically, as John stepped away from him to approach Mrs. Hudson.

“Mrs. Hudson, are you all right?”

Mrs. Hudson shook her head as she handed John a note. “The Inspector just called. They need you both now…”

Sherlock joined John as both looked downward at the note. John turned it around, bringing it closer to his face to read it.

“One of his officers…apparently…they were trying to track down that killer that’s been in the papers…” Mrs. Hudson’s voice trembled as she summarized the call.

John looked up at Mrs. Hudson who looked to be on the verge of tears.

He sighed heavily as he handed the note to Sherlock. “The officer was found dead not too long ago, Holmes.”

Sherlock took the letter before rushing over to John’s space usually reserved for his office. John followed Sherlock after he hugged Mrs. Hudson.

“Holmes,” John started as he approached the space, watching Sherlock don a jacket before throwing him one.

Sherlock wagged a finger at John before he handed him that day’s newspaper. “Again. That’s four times this month and we usually know whomever this is typically strikes twice in one night.

John nodded as he slipped his jacket on before following Sherlock out the door. Sherlock ran over to the table to grab his pipe, bypassing a shaken Mrs. Hudson before heading out the door. John patted Mrs. Hudson on the shoulder before telling her to take a sedative before going to bed.

* * *

Not too long after, both John and Sherlock were sitting in Inspector Lestrade’s office down at the Yard. The Inspector was more agitated than usual, fidgeting with every little thing on his desk before Sherlock snatched a writing instrument out of his hands to get him to focus. The Inspector made a noise from the unexpected move. John reached a hand out between Sherlock and Lestrade’s desk to get the two to focus.

“Okay, you two. Enough.” John admonished them both, glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock crossed his legs as he pulled out his pipe. “Lestrade, please enlighten us. You can see how antsy my companion is becoming.”

John snorted, shaking his head, as Lestrade shuffled in his chair a bit before answering.

“Down by the docks was where we found one of my men. He had believed he found the killer’s trail there.”

John nodded emphatically as Sherlock remained stoic. Before Lestrade could finish, Sherlock slapped the desk.

“To the docks!” He nearly shouted as he nearly launched his body out of his chair.

John jumped up after him. “Holmes, at this hour? The docks are across town.”

Sherlock seemingly ignored his companion as he ran out of the office. “Then, time is of the essence, my dear. To the docks.” He repeated as he sprinted toward the building’s exit, dodging officers and suspects.

John rolled his eyes as he caught up with Sherlock before they reached their vehicle. He knew this was shaping up to be a long night, one in which he never thought he would rather be dancing instead of chasing a killer well into the night.

* * *

As the night turned into the early hours of the day, Sherlock and John had reached the docks. They found a few officers hovering over the spot where they had found their fallen comrade earlier that evening.

Sherlock and John took their time approaching before Sherlock held out a hand to stop John. He pointed to an object not too far away from the group of officers. John squinted his eyes as he tried to process what he was seeing.

“Is that…a package?” He asked. He was sure he sounded more puzzled than he had intended.

Sherlock nodded as he motioned for John to join the group of officers. After a minute or so of investigating the scene, Lestrade appeared, disheveled from chasing Sherlock and John across town.

Sherlock waited a moment as he searched through the scene, disregarding the personal spaces of the officers who were also trying to gather evidence. Sherlock clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention.

“Our killer is not done for the night. I’m afraid either myself or Dr. Watson is his next target.” He said with a grin.

John, although stunned by the sudden conclusion, watched Sherlock express his usual sense of self-satisfaction before he detailed everything about the killer.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I had suspected the killer was about to strike twice this night from his visit to our humble abode earlier this day…or yesterday…” He joked, alluding to it technically being morning.

“We had received a package, but not from our usual delivery person. This isn’t typically strange, but the package had several tears. While it’s a normal sign for our packages to go through some wear and tear as they travel, this particular package had signs that it had been opened and then horribly resealed.”

Sherlock then pointed to the lost package near the scene.

“The killer who either works for the post or knows someone who does, had been searching for our exact address for a while now. I know this because the address on the package we had received had been underlined in a frenzy. Also, several of our neighbors had been complaining about receiving packages in similar states. For privacy purposes, Watson and I use our dear, sweet housekeeper’s name—who, by the way, I don’t know what we would do without, her skills and kindness are irreplaceable—as the recipient of any incoming mail—”

John stopped Sherlock with an outstretched arm. “Holmes, why don’t you tell Mrs. Hudson all those nice things in person? She thinks you _despise_ her.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Because, I cannot allow her to gain the upper hand.” He answered as if that made the most sense.

John squinted as he mouthed the phrase “the upper hand”, expressing bewilderment.

“Now, please, don’t interrupt.” He turned around to continue. “So, the killer had been opening and resealing packages along our block for about a month. Once the killer managed to track down our address, he needed to lure us to the docks, which in turn, led to luring one of Lestrade’s men to the scene.”

Sherlock walked back over to the exact spot where the office had been slain.

“Each time our killer strikes, there’s been no witnesses or multiple victims. Also, our killer has never left a job incomplete after a stake out…which means, the killer will most likely strike again, but this time closer to home—”

Both Sherlock and John quickly glanced at each other before rushing toward their vehicle.

“Holmes, he’s probably back at the house.” John croaked.

Sherlock nodded as both men jumped into their automobile. “Next door, precisely. Let’s not waste another moment.”

John revived up the engine. The motor sputtered a bit, jerking as they took off in the direction of their street. Lestrade shouted after them to get them to stop so he could send officers to their house for protection, but his cries died down as John maneuvered them away from the scene.

As soon as they reached Baker street, they noticed that their neighbor’s front door was wide open. John stopped their vehicle and attempted to head toward the door, but Sherlock stopped him with an outstretched arm, nodding to him wordlessly before motioning for his revolver.

John nodded back as he followed Sherlock. Both took their time approaching the door, unaware of what they would find inside.

“Lestrade and his men should be here soon…so let’s not waste anytime…” Sherlock whispered.

John nodded again as they cautiously entered the foyer of the house. Both had been in the building before; their neighbor, who was an elderly, yet spry woman who often visited her daughter and her family, was out of town that week and had tasked Sherlock and John with taking care of her exotic plants.

John walked ahead of Sherlock as he eventually planted himself in the hallway next to the staircase, reaching out a hand to instantly protect his companion who brushed the hand away with a huff. Immediately, both men hushed each other as soon as they heard a disgruntled sound radiating down the stairs. John pointed upward as Sherlock nodded; they then rounded the balustrade of the staircase before ascending, each taking their time foot by foot.

Suddenly, a figure jumped out of the room at the top of the stairs, flinging itself down the staircase. The figure rammed into John first who then fell on top of Sherlock. All three tumbled down the stairs and onto the floor. Without wasting a moment, John realized that the figure’s physical features matched the description in the newspapers of their killer. He immediately went into a defensive mode as he straightened up to fight their would-be assassin.

The killer grabbed Sherlock who was reeling the most from hitting the floor the hardest by the collar of his jacket before flinging him across the hallway. Sherlock slammed right into a china cabinet which wobbled back and forth a bit before standing completely still.

“ _My_ goodness. Did you see how sturdy this cabinet is, Watson? We must acquire one.” Sherlock looked at the piece of furniture, amazed, as John and the killer began throwing punches at the other.

“Great to know, but I need your help, Holmes!” John shouted as he dodged a blow.

Sherlock ran over to the scene, sliding downward to kick the killer off balance. The killer toppled over before hitting the floor with a loud thud. He shook his head before jumping up to confront Sherlock and John.

Sherlock looked at John before running towards the killer. He knocked the man over before they wrestled each other. John searched frantically around the space for something to tie the man up, searching aimlessly until he found a spool of twine in the drawer of their neighbor’s drawing desk.

“Take your time!” Sherlock shouted as he had the man in a headlock.

John turned around with the twine. “I’m going as fast as I am able, Holmes!”

He then ran over to the man and Sherlock who had managed to turn the killer over to assist John with tying his hands. John struggled, but he finally tied the man who continued to squirm and shout, face down on the floor. Sherlock, still lying on his back, look up at John and smiled.

“Nice work…and fortunately, this time, no one was the victim of a stray bullet.” He sneered, referring to a previous incident.

John rolled his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. “That wasn’t my fault and you know it.”

After a second or two, Lestrade and his men finally appeared. The officers secured the killer properly before dragging him off to one of the vehicles. Lestrade scolded John and Sherlock for not waiting for the police before rushing off to follow his officers back to the Yard.

Both Sherlock and John were quite tousled from the row. John slumped to the floor as he attempted to deescalate from the fight. Sherlock took his time walking over to him before reaching out a hand with a weary smile. John smiled as he took it, letting Sherlock hold on to him as he leaned onto him. They hobbled out of the house and down the stairs before ascending their own.

“I hope we didn’t wake Mrs. Hudson.” John breathlessly wondered out loud.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he fumbled for his keys. “She’s most likely awake and worried sick about our whereabouts.

As soon as Sherlock was close to opening the door, the door swung open. Mrs. Hudson was fuming as she instantly saw Sherlock and John trying to hold each other up.

“For god’s sake. Get upstairs this instance!” She nearly exclaimed.

Sherlock made a whiny noise as John could barely answer back. “Right away, _nanny_.” Sherlock jabbed.

John made a face as he let Sherlock carry him over to the stairs. He didn’t have enough strength to deal with the back and forth between Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock.

“It’s early in the morning and the two of you are out and about doing god knows what!” Mrs. Hudson nearly shouted as she watched the two men stagger up the stairs to their parlor room.

“Mrs. Hudson, we’re fine. Just a few scraps.” John managed as he let Sherlock drag him into the room.

John let Sherlock walk him over to the nearest chair. John slumped down into it as Sherlock sprawled out in front of him on the floor, face down. Gladstone walked over and plopped down next to him.

“Exhaustion will be the death of me.” Sherlock let out as he let Gladstone lick his face.

“Holmes,” John began as he took a moment to catch his breath, “how did you know that the killer would be next door?”

Sherlock grunted as he turned over on his back. He looked up at the ceiling before answering.

“Well, my dear Watson…” He groaned in pain, “…although our killer is sloppy when it comes to mailing packages, he would have never risked running into an innocent while on a hit job, i.e. our dear Mrs. Hudson.”

John nodded thoughtfully as he joined Sherlock on the floor with a loud thud. Sherlock scooted over a little to give him some room.

“Of course.” John let out with sigh. He turned his head to look directly at his companion who was staring up at the ceiling as he rubbed his shoulder.

“Are you too tired to resume our lesson or shall we go to bed?” John asked quietly.

Sherlock turned his head to face John. He looked genuinely surprised. “Well, that’s quite the revelation.” He shuffled before sitting up straight with a groan. He turned somewhat to look downward at John.

John smiled up at him. “I am also very tired. But it’s your call since you’re the teacher.”

Sherlock smiled widely. “How about we retire for the—” he turned his head to look at the partly drawn drapes, which revealed that it was light outside already with the morning dawn, “the morning and resume the lesson tomorrow evening…or well tonight’s evening.” He corrected as he waved his hand around.

“That sounds fantastic.”

John caught Sherlock’s hand as he used the opportunity to pull him closer toward his face. Sherlock look caught off guard before he finally realized that John was pulling him close for a kiss which he gratefully accepted.


End file.
